He went back to his room, shutting the door gently behind him.
The light from his tablet screen flickered across the walls as he lay down, opening Genshin Impact. The phone was still untouched, the faint message light blinking once in the corner of the desk — quiet, patient, unseen.
Honey moved through the game world — green forests, open skies, glowing trails of magic — and for a while, it felt like peace.
The real world, with all its thoughts and people and half-spoken things, could wait till tomorrow.
By 8:45, Honey was still lost in the game. The soft hum of his ceiling fan mixed with the faint sound of footsteps and utensils from the kitchen — his mother cleaning up before bed. His room was dim now, the tablet's light painting blue flickers across his face. He'd been exploring the same valley in Genshin Impact for nearly twenty minutes, not really playing, just wandering — collecting flowers, listening to the in-game wind.
He paused for a second, staring at the glowing landscape. "Man… this place is quieter than my whole life," he muttered with a small smirk. His avatar stood alone on a cliff, the distant music swelling softly.
The phone was still lying on his table, face-down, silent. The blinking notification light had gone out — the message still unread. Honey didn't notice.
At 9:00, he finally closed the game and put the tablet aside. His eyes felt heavy, but not sleepy — the kind of heaviness that came from too many thoughts and too much stillness. He leaned back on his pillow, one arm resting over his forehead.
Through the window, the faint noise of the street drifted in — someone's bike, a few kids still talking outside, a dog barking somewhere far.
He exhaled slowly, his mind wandering again.
The day had been ordinary — so painfully ordinary it almost felt unreal. No fights, no chaos, no new moments to obsess over. Just quiet things that felt like filler between scenes.
For a second, he thought of checking his phone — maybe scrolling, maybe watching something small before bed — but the laziness won. "Tomorrow," he mumbled, half-turning on the bed.
The phone stayed untouched, the message buried under hours of stillness.
Outside, the sky deepened, and the night crawled in quietly — the kind of night that didn't demand anything, didn't promise anything, just existed.
Honey closed his eyes. For now, he let himself sink into it — the hum of the fan, the faint taste of dinner still lingering, and the peaceful ignorance of an unread message waiting in the dark.
By 9:40, the world outside had faded into quiet—no footsteps, no clattering from the kitchen, no voices from the lane. Only the rhythmic whirr of the ceiling fan filled Honey's room. He shifted on the bed, half asleep, half thinking, his mind tracing random fragments of the day—Priyanshi's smile, Uday's teasing grin, the sound of his mother's laughter over dinner.
His hand slipped toward the edge of the bed where his phone lay on the table, the screen still dark. He turned it over lazily, more out of habit than curiosity. The faint light blinked again—one unread message.
Honey blinked, slowly realizing.
"Oh… right," he whispered to himself, sitting up a little.
It was Priyanshi.
"You forgot to check your phone, didn't you?" she had written at 6:03 PM, followed by a small smiling emoji.
A small jolt ran through him—not panic, but that strange mix of surprise and warmth .
He checked the time: 9:41 PM.
"Three hours…" he muttered. "Nice, Honey. Perfect timing."
He stared at the message for a few seconds, thumb hovering above the keyboard. His brain instantly began running in two directions:
—If I reply now, she'll think I was waiting for it.
—If I don't, she'll think I'm ignoring her.
—Or maybe she doesn't care at all.
He rubbed his forehead and exhaled. "Damn, stop thinking."
Finally, he typed:
"Haha yeah… I was busy with something. Just saw it now."
He hit send before his mind could argue again.
The message went, double-ticked.
Then silence.
Honey placed the phone beside him, pretending not to wait. But his eyes kept drifting toward it, every few seconds, like a reflex he couldn't control. The clock ticked on the wall; the fan hummed.
At 9:46, the phone buzzed again.
Priyanshi: "It's okay. I thought you might be studying or something."
He smiled faintly.
"Yeah, sort of. How was your day?" he typed.
The reply came slower this time.
"Normal. A bit tired. Long classes today."
The conversation was light, ordinary, soft like distant rain. Neither of them said much, but every short message felt heavier than it looked—like every dot, every pause meant something invisible.
By the time their chat faded out around 10:10 PM, Honey lay on his back, phone still glowing beside him.
His eyes lingered on the last line she'd sent: "Goodnight, Honey :)"
He typed slowly, "Goodnight" then stared at it for a moment before pressing send.
As the screen dimmed, a faint smile stayed on his face—a quiet, unplanned one.
And for the first time in days, the silence around him didn't feel empty. It felt like something soft had begun to move beneath it.